Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [94]
Her soft mouth curved. "Perfectly," she said. "What a keen mind you have, Dain, when it is clear. You go direct to the heart of the issue."
The approving smile shot directly to his heart and curled warmly there.
"Good heavens, that sounds like a flat-out compliment." He laid his hand over his melting heart. "And on my intellect, no less. My primitive, male intellect. I do believe I shall swoon." His gaze slid to her décolletage. "Maybe I'd better lie down. Maybe…" He lifted his eyes to hers. "Are you finished, Jess?"
She let out a small sigh. "I daresay I was finished the day I met you."
He rose and moved to her chair. "Anyone might have told you that. I can't imagine what you were thinking of, to keep plaguing me as you did." He lightly trailed his knuckles along her silken cheek.
"I wasn't thinking clearly," she said.
He took her hand and drew her up from the chair. "I begin to doubt you are capable of any kind of thinking," he said. He wasn't either, at present. He was too achingly aware of her skin, flawless porcelain white, and of the small, graceful hand in his own.
He was painfully conscious of his great, clumsy bulk, and his crude ways, and of his darkness, inside and out. He still had trouble believing that only a few hours earlier, he'd been pounding into her, slaking his bestial lust upon her innocent body. He could scarcely believe his lust was aroused again, so fiercely, so soon. But he was an animal. She had only to smile at him and the monstrous, brutal need swelled inside him, smothering intellect and demolishing the woefully thin veneer of civilized male.
He told himself to calm down, to talk, to woo. She wanted to be seduced, and it was the least he could do. He ought to be able to. He ought to have that much control. But the best he could do was lead her to the bed, instead of grabbing her and throwing her down on the table and himself on top of her.
He drew back the bedclothes and sat her down upon the mattress. Then he gazed at her helplessly while he searched the turgid mire of his mind for the right words.
"I couldn't keep away," she said, her grey eyes searching his. "I knew I should, but I couldn't. I thought you understood that, but it seems you didn't. You got that part wrong, too, didn't you? What on earth have you been thinking, Dain?"
He had lost track of the conversation. He wondered what she read in his face. "What did I get wrong?" he asked, essaying an indulgent smile.
"Everything, it seems." Her sooty lashes lowered. "And so it's no surprise that I misjudged."
"Is that why you didn't keep away? Because you misjudged me?"
She shook her head. "No, and it's not because I'm addled upstairs, either. You are not to think I'm mad, Dain, because I'm not. I know it looks that way, but there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. The intellect, as you of all men ought to know, is no match for the intensity of the animal drive. I've been in lust with you from the moment I met you."
His knees grew wobbly. He crouched down in front of her and took a firm grip of the edge of the mattress. He cleared his throat. "Lust." He managed to keep the one syllable low and steady. He decided not to try any more syllables of anything.
She was searching his eyes again. "You didn't know, did you?"
Dissembling was utterly beyond his powers. He shook his head.
She brought her hands up to cup his face. "You must be blind. And deaf. Or terribly confused. Everyone in Paris knew. You poor man. I don't want to begin to imagine what's been going through your mind."
He managed to laugh. "I thought it was me they knew about. That I was…besotted. I was. I told you so."
"But, darling, you lust after every female you see," she said ever so patiently. "Why should Paris work itself into a frenzy about that? It was because of my behavior, don't you understand? They saw I was too infatuated to keep away, as a sensible, strong-moraled lady